


Blonde Hair, Black Lace

by killfascination



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Blood, Character Death, Death, I don't think it counts, Professional Killer, Psychopath, Serial Killer, Stabbing, Stalking, Tags are basically all spoilers, blatant disregard for human life, but it's still someone getting threatened and then someone getting stabbed, but what do you expect from serial killers and pros, fun times all around, not really major character death even though they're a main character, some partying and clubbing, the description isn't too graphic, there's a gun, twist ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 21:35:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11239716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killfascination/pseuds/killfascination
Summary: There she was. Blonde hair tossed over her shoulder, black lace over red fabric, ebony stilettos unwavering despite the uneven concrete.She was breathtaking. He couldn't stop looking.(This is meant to be a bit of a softball, a stand-alone piece to start off with - more of a quick exercise in creative writing than anything substantial.)





	Blonde Hair, Black Lace

There she was. Blonde hair tossed over her shoulder, black lace over red fabric, ebony stilettos unwavering despite the uneven concrete.

She was breathtaking. He couldn't stop looking.

Her deep red lipstick was pulled into a smile, chocolate eyes full of laughter as she helped her inebriated friends down the sidewalk. The nails on her outstretched hands were immaculately painted to match her dress, black patterns on red paint. She moved with the grace of someone on a runway, not someone who had recently downed several shots of tequila as he she knew she had.

He followed her to each bar and club she entered, tailing her group of friends as they drank and drank and danced the night away. They were a group of pretty party girls, a bouquet of flashy, bland flowers with wilting petals. Except her. She was a rose among them, still flowering, petals unfolding and alive, with a rich and tantalizing scent that could draw anyone in.

He waited. Watched as they split into pairs in the early hours of the morning. They called for their final rides, parting ways with sloppy kisses and teetering hugs. The blonde sent each of them off with care, leaving herself to catch a ride alone. He followed easily, hopping in his own vehicle to tail the taxi cab.

He parked a couple houses down the street and turned off his car, watching as she stepped onto the dimly lit street, turning to pay for the ride. He exited his car before the driver left her to walk up her driveway alone, heels clicking daintily as she fished her keys from her purse. He crossed her neighbour's lawn, nearing her as she unlocked her front door and stepped inside. She turned to close the door but he was on her, knife in hand before she could.

Throwing his hand over her mouth and bringing the blade to her throat, he slammed the door closed with his foot and smiled when he saw the fear in her eyes. Her hands shook as she held them up, dark lashes quivering as she took small steps backwards and whimpered.

He instructed the blonde to be quiet, pressing the knife closer to her throat and moving them towards her living room. She dropped her purse and did as he told. He could feel her breath on his hand, felt it quicken as he pressed the knife closer to her neck and urged her backwards. He could picture the way her pulse would feel as he sliced her open, could almost feel the blood run over his hands as her life drained away, and he had to stop himself. Had to keep his mind in check because he'll get to that, just hang on.

He drew his hand away from her mouth, marvelling at how her lipstick hadn't smudged. He eyed her quivering lips, envisioning the inevitable begging and pleading that would soon follow.

He commanded her to sit down, gesturing to the chair on her right. She nodded, following his instructions quickly and placed her shaking hands on her lap. He stood in front of the chair, knife pointed at her heart, left hand resting on the arm of the chair. She ducked her head, blonde hair falling in her front of her face.

He brushed a few strands behind her ear, leaning closer as she shrank away from his touch. He taunted her with belittling, demeaning remarks, whispering in her ear to break any resolve she might still have so she would crumble apart as he watched. He leaned back, regarding her as she whimpered, covering her face with her hands. 

He threw his head back in laughter, basking in the feeling of causing such a beautiful creature to become such a mess, but then he felt pain flare up in his right hand and he reeled back. He went to raise his knife in defense but realized too late that it was gone as he was swiftly forced backwards. He fell onto the floor and scrambled to get back up but was soon pinned, the heel of a black stiletto pressing against his jugular. He looked up to see her, gaze calculating and eyes cold, with his knife in her hand.

He tried to move, went to grab her leg, but she drove her heel through his shin with enough force to leave him screaming in pain. The blonde pulled back, watching him clutch his leg before turning away, her shoe leaving small spots of blood on the floor as she walked. He grabbed his leg forcefully in an attempt to stop the bleeding as his mind fogged up from the pain.

She walked to her front door, knife swinging lazily in one hand, and locked it, turning back to face him with a thoughtful look. He tried to stand, using the chair to pull himself up, and she just watched. He glanced around the room, trying to formulate a plan when she sauntered towards him, no sign of concern on her face. He made a move to grab the knife but she deflected him with practiced ease. He realized in that moment that somewhere along the line – at some point during all of his careful planning and stalking – he had missed something big. But he didn't have any time to figure out what it was that he missed. 

She closed in on him suddenly with such swiftness that he had no chance to stop her, no time to even think of fighting back as she stabbed him, her eyes not leaving his for a single second. He looked down, shocked, and saw his blade protruding from his gut, blood trickling out around it. His surroundings blurred as he looked back up, catching the stony expression on her face – the terrified girl completely gone – and he made a strangled noise. His vision darkened and the last thing felt was his legs buckling beneath him as he fell to the floor.

“Fucking idiot.”

The woman regarded the body for a moment with a shake of her head before sighing deeply. She grabbed a tissue and wiped the blood from her hand before retrieving her phone from her purse, dialing a memorized number.

"Hey, yeah, it's me,” she stated after the first ring. “I know! It's been a while since we last talked. Yeah, well I've got a job for you." She studied her heel, hoping the blood wouldn't stain it, as she spoke with the woman on the other end.

"Disposal and clean up," she told the person on the other end. "Well I didn't plan on having a serial killer follow me home." She laughed. "It is kinda hilarious that I got targeted. Dumb-ass had no idea he who he was going after.”

She sat down in her armchair, ignoring the corpse laying on her floor, and chatted for a while.

“Yes, I’m still keeping up with the ‘gals’, as you say,” she said, using another tissue to wipe the blood from her shoe. “Went out with them this evening, actually. In fact, the poor bastard currently lying on my living room floor was probably tailing me the whole time. What? Me? Loosing my edge? No, I’d blame my cluelessness on the tequila.” She paused to chuckle. “Oh, you don’t want to know how many shots I’ve had. But, speaking of shots… yeah, I heard about it. Pretty important job, right? Do you want to do a trade? I take the hit and you deal with… pardon me?” she questioned incredulously, sitting forward in her seat suddenly with an offended look on her face. 

She listened for a moment before responding again, obviously angry. “No, you will not be giving the hit to Emmerson! It needs to be a goddamn silent hit and that walking bag of flaccid dicks couldn’t do ‘silent’ if I shot him in the head with a- well fuck that!”

She stood up suddenly, stepping over the body without a second glance and taking the phone with her to her bedroom. She switched the call to speakerphone and set it on her bed, kneeling down to pull a solid, black safe out from under it.

“Emmerson’s taking the hit tomorrow,” the female voice on the phone told her. “So, unless you can get out there tonight…” Everything was silent for a moment as the blonde flicked the dial on the safe with deft fingers. “Bishop? You still there?” the voice questioned from the phone. The woman – Bishop – opened the safe, retrieving a silenced pistol and cartridge from inside.

“Walters,” she started, standing up and flipping the lid closed with her pointed heel. “This hit means a lot to the… shall we say ‘community’, and I’m not letting a skill-less fucktard like Emmerson fuck it up.” She loaded the pistol with ease and slipped a holster on under her dress.

“You’re going to do the hit tonight?” Walters asked, sounding less surprised than she probably should. Bishop swapped her black stilettos for grey runners and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, grabbing a pair of black gloves as she spoke to her fixer friend. She picked her phone up off the bed and moved back to her living room.

“Tell you what; I’ll get this hit done before the sun comes up – no mess, no fuss, no extra charge – and you make sure my place is spotless before I wake up tomorrow. Everyone’s happy-”

“Except Emmerson.”

“-And the job gets done. Deal?” she asked, not really waiting for an answer as she grabbed her keys and gave the body on her floor one last unsympathetic look. There was an audible sigh as she took a moment to check her appearance in the hallway mirror.

“Deal,” Walters agreed reluctantly. Bishop smiled.

“I’ll leave the front door unlocked.”

**Author's Note:**

> This piece might seem choppy with an odd switch in writing styles half-way through, at least I hope that's what it seems like since that what I was going for. I won't explain my exact thoughts because I'm hoping that my writing can speak for itself, that the concept and reasons for writing it the way I did make sense if you start looking into it, but I can let you know if you ask for specifics.
> 
> This is a piece from the more PG end of my writing spectrum - there will be more blood, more gore, and more fucked up shit in the works to come.
> 
> Please comment to let me know what mistakes I missed, what you liked/loved, and what I could have done better! It really helps me out since I am my own editor and don't have any opportunities to get my works reviewed and critiqued by others.


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